Out Of Character
by beautifully-rational
Summary: AU. The series of events which led up to a number of significant happenings in the Sherlock and Doctor Who universes. Written as a non-linear story. Both pre, during and post-Reichenbach. Pre and during-Rose. Post-Angels Take Manhattan. Includes some serious time travel. One shot.


_**A/N: I got inspired for this fic by a Wholock post on Tumblr. I actually thought the idea was good, though written in the non-linear form. It may be a little confusing, but it should make sense once you read the whole thing. Please do enjoy, and feedback would lovely!**_

_**Sherlock and Doctor Who belong to the BBC, as do the lines from 'The Reichenbach Fall' used in the story.**_

_NOTE: Oh my goodness I'm so sorry! This is a finished story, but I just forgot to mark it as such._

* * *

"We have a... situation." The government official informed the man in front of him, his voice grave and his features solemn.

"Did you cheat on your diet again?" Came the returned witty remark, accompanied with a slow tilt of the head and the raise of both eyebrows.

Mycroft released an exasperated sigh, his patience wearing thin. "This is serious." He retorted firmly. All he got in response was a goofy smile. Mycroft sighed again. "Are you going to help me or not?" He asked.

"You haven't told me what I'm helping you with." Was the stubborn reply, along with the crossing of both arms over one another.

"It's confidential." Mycroft answered slowly. "Until you agree to help me, I'm unable to tell you anything." He paused. "Don't you want the information I have to offer you?" He attempted to manipulate the man across his desk.

"I've told you already; there is _nothing _I can help you with." His voice had turned sour, as had his expression. "There is nothing you could possibly offer to me which would change my mind."

"The girl you met three months ago, your timeline." The Holmes began. "Rose Tyler." The man's eyes in front of him widened, despite his attempts at hiding the gesture. Mycroft smirked. "Do you wish to help me now, Doctor?"

The alien in leather seemed more subdued and vulnerable than before. "What do you need me to do?" He asked; his bravado now fallen away.

Mycroft took a deep breath.

* * *

"Keep your eyes fixed on me." Sherlock swallowed. "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?" Came the oblivious question from the other end of the phone.

Sherlock took a shaky breath. "This phone call... it's my note." He steadied himself. "It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"

A stunned pause. "Leave a note when?"

A hesitant pause this time. "Goodbye, John."

And he watched the realization flood onto John's face. He said something into the phone, but Sherlock had already hung up. The consulting detective gazed at the man on the pavement below him for a moment, but he knew what he had to do. He had to do this now.

"Sherlock!"

The shout was what got him to throw himself off the ledge. Moriarty was right – falling was exactly like flying, and it was a shame that he didn't have wings. The permanent destination – the pavement – was fast approaching. But he doesn't quite reach it.

* * *

"You need to go back to her." The government official said, leaning back into his chair.

"_That_ was the information?" The alien in leather cried. "I put time and space on the line for one _stupid_ human being?"

"You need to trust me, Doctor."

"Who told you this information?"

Mycroft smirked. "You did."

* * *

There was a curly-haired genius on the floor of the Doctor's TARDIS. _Well_, on top of the Doctor on the floor of the TARDIS.

"Sherlock?"

The curly-haired genius was coughing heavily, still sprawled out of his stomach. His eyes were glazed over, and he was blinking rapidly.

"Sherlock."

"Mmph? Mycroft?"

"No. Doctor."

"Doctor Mycroft?"

"Just Doctor. The Doctor."

The curly-haired genius looked around the console room with heavy eyes from on top of the Doctor, but his gaze settled on the face not far from his. He still hadn't steadied his breathing.

"Where – am I?" He took big gasps between his words, as if struggling for air.

The Doctor examined him carefully. "Didn't I soften your landing enough?"

"Winded. Just – a second." Came the curt reply.

The Doctor waited patiently, Sherlock till on top of him. He could feel the genius's heart pounding against his chest. He had stopped coughing, but his breathing was rapid.

"You're – an alien." Sherlock said suddenly.

"What makes you say that?" The Doctor asked.

"Two – hearts."

The Doctor was taken aback. Even through the thick leather of his jacket, the genius could tell. "Mycroft did tell me you were good."

"You – planned. This."

"For seven years."

"He – knew. My brother – he knew."

"For seven years."

* * *

Sherlock paced up and down his new bedroom. Mycroft was perched on the end of the double bed, his umbrella in hand.

"I planned something with Molly." The younger Holmes continued to ramble.

"I know, Sherlock." The elder Holmes returned patiently.

"She's going to think I'm actually dead."

"We think that's best."

"Did you even give them a body to work with?" He asked.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment, but then answered, "The Doctor took care of that."

Silence fell, and Sherlock repeated, "Everyone thinks I'm dead."

"Yes." Mycroft confirmed again.

"You knew about this for seven years, Mycroft. Why couldn't you tell me?" Sherlock asked a new question.

Mycroft was taken aback. He had no explanation – the Doctor had planned it all. "It was complicated. The Doctor would have to explain it to you."

Silence fell again. "He's an alien." The genius uttered quietly.

"Yes, Sherlock." The government official replied.

"From outer space."

"Yes."

"An alien from outer space is worried about the agenda of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes."

Mycroft had questioned this fact previously as well, but he didn't believe it was his place to tell Sherlock of this. The elder Holmes had to appear in control; as if he knew what he were doing. In all honesty, he was just following the script. "Obviously so."

* * *

"Mister Holmes." Anthea called from outside the double doors. "You have a visitor."

"Send them in." Mycroft answered.

A lanky gentleman dressed in tweed wandered into the prestige office. He examined the room for a brief moment, before moving over to Mycroft's desk and plopping down on the chair opposite.

Mycroft examined the man with a raised eyebrow. "If this is a joke, you may show yourself out now." He said firmly.

"Oh no. No, it isn't. This is serious." The man claimed.

"I don't even remember you having an appointment." Mycroft retorted.

The man sighed. "The psychic paper won't work on you like it did with your assistant, so I'm just going to have to give it to you straight."

Mycroft narrowed his eyebrows. "Do I need to call security?"

"Please listen to me, Mycroft."

The government official let out a long breath. "You have one minute." Mycroft started the timer on his watch.

The lanky man swallowed. "Your brother is going to die."

"Common news. Continue."

"I've been there. To the day he dies." The man swallowed. "But it's wrong – he isn't meant to die that day."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Thirty seconds."

"It's a fixed point. He's got to live, or time and space will collapse."

"Twenty."

"Mycroft, I need you to say something. Do you believe me, or don't you?"

"Fifteen."

"Mycroft."

"Fourteen."

"_Mycroft_."

"Thirteen."

"_Mycroft_! I'm a lord of time. I'm an alien from outer space. And I need you to believe me. I need you to listen."

Mycroft sighed. "Ten."

"There is a man training to be a doctor right now." The man continued. "His name is John Watson. He's going to become Sherlock's best friend. More than a brother than you could ever be to him."

"Five."

"That umbrella you carry around everywhere is the last gift your mother gave you – it was at your graduation day at college – before she passed away from cancer. Sherlock didn't come to the funeral, and you have resented him for that since. It was the day you swore to be archenemies. You haven't spoken since."

Silence from the government official. The lanky man gave him a sad smile. "I need you to listen to me, Mycroft Holmes. I need your help, and I need it now. Will you listen?"

Mycroft nodded slowly, stunned. "I'll listen."

* * *

The Doctor straightened his leather jacket, smoothed the hair he had, and then opened the door.

Rose is exactly where he saw her last; dragging Mickey back towards the Powell Estate. They're both looking back at him.

He put on one of his goofy smiles. "Did I mention it also travels in time?"

* * *

Mycroft examined the parcel the lanky stranger had given him. The man had long since left, and still the government official hadn't opened the parcel.

But something made him grab his pocket knife and cut open the head of the packaging. Inside he found a DVD and a small note.

"Watch it. It'll tell you everything you need to know." Mycroft read the calligraphy aloud.

He looked to the DVD in his other hand. He opened his computer's disc drive, and the CD began to play.

"_Ah, Doctor. Have a seat._"

"_How do you know who I am?_"

"_Please do have a seat. We have much to discuss._"

The man took a seat in the chair the lanky man had been sitting in before.

Mycroft fast forwarded the tape, stunned; this was security footage. But the date mark was in the future, and he knew this hadn't happened yet.

Which could only mean...

Even more stunned than before, he pressed play again.

"_We have a... situation._"

He watched the whole tape. It took up the rest of his day, but he watched _all_ the security footage. He learned about John Watson, Rose Tyler and the Doctor, and ultimately his brother's going-to-be-faked suicide.

He leant back into his chair, and discovered there were two sides to the note that had accompanied the DVD – it seemed to have changed sides whilst Mycroft was watching the tape.

It read:

_Do try to stay in character. Time and space is depending on you, Mycroft Holmes._

_- The Doctor (2012) _


End file.
